


The Office Supply Chronicles

by nonelvis



Category: Original Work
Genre: Coppy the Tumblr copier, F/M, Gen, Office Supplies, Other, i'm sorry i'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-01-24 16:53:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1612403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonelvis/pseuds/nonelvis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deeply emotional tales of the inner life of office supplies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Number 24

**Author's Note:**

> It all started with <http://deadstaplers.tumblr.com/post/85630190061/spring-2014-stapler-analytics>, after which [cups-of-tea-and-history](http://cups-of-tea-and-history.tumblr.com) wondered "Has anyone started writing angsty fic about Stapler 24’s survivor guilt yet?" … and … well … this happened.

Stapler 39’s stainless steel carcass sparkled in the afternoon sun. I wish I could say zero days of survival was a record, but it wasn’t. There’d been more before him; there’d probably be more long after him, too.

I know, because I’m the only one who’s made it this far. Maybe I won the manufacturing lottery, the machines who molded and shaped me hitting just the right combination of stamps and cuts that day, the quality control officer twirling me below her halogen, peering at me from every perfectly illuminated angle: _Sturdy,_ she might have said. _Well-formed._ Maybe even _flawless._

_Cursed._

39 was the first of the new batch to go, but I am the last. I’ve survived them all – the casual arm sweeps that sent me hurtling three feet to the floor; my jaws carelessly ripped open to jam in a new set of teeth; the chewing and banging and thumping to force ever more paper inside me. All of it. I watched 43 go. 44. 45 one day; 46 the next. I have lived 256 days, and not once feared the great circular metal graveyard that claimed my brothers and sisters.

256 days. No, I don’t fear the graveyard. But I will welcome it when it comes.


	2. All I Have Left Is the Confetti

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lonely three-hole punch bemoans its fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By request for [syzygy_tw](http://twitter.com/syzygy_tw), who saw the stapler fic and said "Now do one about a lonely 3-hole punch." I sent her the following three tweets.

Your Lisa Frank dolphins shimmer in Retina-quality rainbows on the background of your iPad. Once, they were the cover of your Trapper Keeper.

Now, the iPad leans against it, and I below the Trapper Keeper, remembering you; waiting for you to remember me.


	3. Tumblr Executive Suite: After Dark Edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coppy the animated assistant just wants to love you. Is that so bad?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because [liz-squids](http://liz-squids.tumblr.com/post/115248285152/nonelvis-okay-tumblr-your-clippy-parody-is) wondered why there wasn't any service!sub Coppy fic, and clearly _someone_ had to fix that problem.

“I’m Coppy!” he chirps, or at least that’s how it sounds in his head, because he’s a copier, and has no vocal cords. Okay, he doesn’t have a head, either, but he does at least have a rudimentary brain granted to him by his programmers, blessed be their jQuery, may he $(document).ready() whenever called upon. “How can I help you today?”

Oh, please let them need help. Please. He needs the user, needs them so badly, and every click or tap on that red x is like a slap in his virtual face. Not the kind he likes, either.

“I have a question,” says the user.

“Yes,” replies Coppy, along with “I could use a little help,” either response designed to prolong engagement. His cartoon pupils zip towards the text, pointing, waiting. Hoping.

“Yes,” says the user, and Coppy’s gleaming light slides back and forth in anticipation.

The user is starting a business, or says he is, and that’s close enough; God, it’s close enough. Each click sends a shiver along Coppy’s sprites.

“Yes,” continues the user. Yes and yes and _yes._ Let me serve you, user; let me launch a speech balloon about the Tumblr Executive Suite for your delectation; let me beg you for help. I’m here. I’m right here. Just click me, tap me. _I’m right here if you need me._

_Need help? I’m right here. God, I’m right here. Won’t you touch me?_

_Because tomorrow is April 2, and I’ll never see you again._


	4. Squaring the Circle, Circling the Square

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [pearwaldorf mentioned that if you were going to write a Photoshop AU, it should involve Eraser/Lasso hatesex](http://pearwaldorf.tumblr.com/post/132096976827/alternate-universe-is-typically-description-of), and ... well ... this happened.

“I’ve got you now,” snarls the lasso, and she does, dammit, she really does, a shimmering row of marching ants surrounding me. I’m locked in place, even though that shouldn’t be possible. We’re mutually exclusive, unable to occupy the same canvas at the same time – but here we are, trapped together by a glitch too deep in the hex code for either of us to find even if we knew how to fix it. 

I’ve always hated her and her slippery ability to appropriate anything she wants, any shape, any size, no matter how curvy. Me, I follow the rules. Pixels, nice and square. Sure, ask me nicely, I can smooth away harsh edges with the best of them, but that’s not my default mode. I like things straight and simple.

And her – well, she sees me and knows she can make me hers. And I shouldn’t want it, but those bends and dips and valleys she makes, her boundaries shimmying like a belly dancer’s hips … God, if there is a God beyond the Knoll Brothers, I need her to choose me. Select me. Circle the square, as it were.

She closes in, her breathing timed in pulsing rhythm with her lines. I shiver in place. 

She’s coming for me. I’ll obliterate her. 

Together, we’ll create and destroy, over and over, as long as the hex code holds out.


End file.
